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Onika Maraj January 9
Professor Rowland walked in, her presence commanding instant attention. She was stylish, as always, with a fierce outfit that screamed confidence.
"Good morning, everyone," she began, her voice firm yet inviting. "I hope you're all ready to embark on your first assignment for this fashion class. Today marks a significant step in your journey as designers."
I leaned forward, my interest piqued. I loved the thrill of a new project, especially in a class that meant so much to me.
"Your assignment is to sketch three designs that represent your individual identities," Professor Rowland continued, pacing the front of the class with purpose. "I want you to explore who you are and how you express that through fashion. This is your opportunity to convey your essence through your work."
A wave of excitement washed over me. This was my chance to showcase my personality through my designs. I could already envision the sketches taking shape in my mind.
"Please keep in mind," she added, her tone becoming more serious, "this is not merely about aesthetics. Fashion is a powerful form of self-expression, and I expect you to infuse your sketches with meaning. Consider the colors, fabrics, and silhouettes that resonate with you. Your designs should reflect your story and your vision."
"I expect these sketches completed by the end of class. Afterward, we will transition to the design room, where you'll have the opportunity to bring your ideas to life," she instructed, her enthusiasm infectious.
I glanced around at my classmates, some looking excited, others nervous. I felt a mix of both. I could already picture the designs: vibrant colors, bold patterns, and maybe a touch of glam that screamed 'Nicki.'
"Remember, I am looking for originality and authenticity," Professor Rowland continued. "This is your moment to shine. Don't shy away from showcasing your unique perspective. Fashion is an extension of who you are, so take risks and think outside the box."
I took a deep breath, letting the energy of the room fuel my creativity. I opened my sketchbook, flipped to a blank page, and began to draw.
I leaned over to Cassie. "So, why did you and Lauren stop communicating?"
She sighed. "I was ten and didn't have a phone. Plus, I don't think my dad really liked her."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Our dads didn't get along. I think he moved because of that, not for a job. I really missed her."
I smirked. "What are you doing later?"
"Nothing much," she replied.
"You should come over. We can help each other on our projects."
